


Coffee Man

by Prism0467 (marley_station)



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angst, Explicit Language, Hair-pulling, Humor, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, M/M, NC-17, Nudity, One Shot, POV First Person, Sexual Tension, Switching, Voyeurism, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marley_station/pseuds/Prism0467
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shikamaru falls for the beautiful stranger who buys coffee from him each morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Man

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N** : This is a _Penthouse Letter_ -style one-shot I was inspired to write while I was pulling my hair out because I couldn’t write a one-shot. I put my particular spit and polish on a horribly cliché theme in a hopeful attempt to make it interesting. This is dedicated to all of us who love Shikamaru loving Neji, but especially to **Kyuubi1010** , **crazyaanglover** , and **rouge-trinity** of **deviantART**.
> 
>  **Warning** : Un-beta'd
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : I do not own _Naruto_ or anything associated to it beyond this fanfic. I do not own _Penthouse Letters_ either.
> 
>  
> 
>  **NOTE: THIS WORK OF FANFICTION WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED TO DEVIANTART.COM ON 17 APRIL 2009**.

I’m Shikamaru.  I’m a lazy bum.  I live with my parents.  I attend college full-time.  For money I work as a cashier in the cafeteria of a big fancy office building close to the campus.  Not very exciting, but it has its moments.  
  
Each morning, for example.  There’s this guy who works in the building.  I don’t know his name.  What I do know is that he’s taller than me, and prettier than any woman I’ve ever met.  This guy’s a phenomenon—pale, blemish-free skin, lavender eyes—yes, I said  _lavender_ —framed by impossibly long lashes, perfect teeth and long, shiny dark-brown hair that reaches his ass.  No, I’m not kidding.  He’s like something out of a magazine.  He shows up in a designer three-piece suit and strolls into the cafeteria for coffee each morning.  Turns out we make a decent cup of joe in this place—who would have guessed?  
  
I’m a guy who likes guys, and Coffee Man sets a standard, so I watch him.  I can’t tell his age, but I figure he’s got a few years on me, not too many though.  He’s pleasant enough, if a little uptight.  I always find myself wondering what a guy would have to do to crack his shell.  Trust me, if I knew, he’d be a sitting duck.  I’m not terribly motivated, but for that one, I’ll make all sorts of exceptions.  
  
Anyway, on one particularly gusty Tuesday, looking thoroughly windblown and especially sexy, he graces me with his presence in a rush to get his coffee.  There’s no one there but me and I’m cleaning off one of the tables, watching him from the corner of my eye so as not to be too noticeable.  I figure Coffee Man knows I watch him, but he has the bearing to stay quiet about it.  In exchange, I try not to be too obvious.  Now, I’m the only one working for at least another hour, so as I see him moving toward the register with his coffee, I stop what I’m doing to go over and ring him up.  Well, he must have forgotten something because he turned around again, very quickly, and before I could dodge it, a splash of piping-hot coffee landed on me.  
  
 _Man,_  that stung.  
  
“Really, you ought to watch where you’re going!” Coffee Man tells me.  
  
 _I_  need to watch where  _I’m_  going?  
  
You know what?  Maybe I do.  I apologize as I peel my thin t-shirt away from the scalded flesh of my abdomen—which is pretty toned; I’m a lazy bum but I’m not  _that_  lazy—and start waving it in a juvenile attempt to get it to dry and you know what else?  I catch him looking.  Not just a little glance; he full-on looked!  It occurred to me then that I’m usually behind the counter and hidden from view when he’s around, so he’s getting quite a show today for his cup of spilt coffee.  There was no one else around, no one to witness our little moment.  I make eye contact and I swear I see guilt in those gem-like eyes of his.  
  
Longing, too, but that’s probably just wishful thinking.  
  
“The coffee’s on me”, I tell him, the pun intended.  He leaves the cafeteria in a fluster.  
  
Honestly, there’s a laundry list of things I’d let him spill on me if I thought it would get him to look at me that way again.  
  
The rest of that week goes by the way they usually do, but with one exception: the look in his eyes has changed.  It’s as if Coffee Man sees something different when he looks at me now.  Or maybe it’s just that for the first time since I began working in this building,  _he sees me._  
  
Cue Monday, the start of a new week.  Coffee Man comes in for his daily cup again, pays, and makes his way up the stairs.  Now I allow myself to wonder what he does every day in that building,  what type of car he drives, who does his hair, and if he only likes boys or if it’s boys  _and_  girls.  Now he’s more than just an extraordinarily beautiful sex toy.  He’s a person, maybe even a vulnerable one.  
  
The grill closes at two and the cafeteria closes at three.   I work a split-shift—I come in mornings from seven to ten, leave for class, then return at two to shut things down.  Don’t ask me about the lunch rush; the building is flanked on all sides by restaurants, I’m not even sure anyone uses the grill after I leave in the morning.  Anyway, I do my afternoon thing and as I’m closing and locking the gate over the cafeteria door I notice Coffee Man, standing outside holding a bag.  He’s definitely a sight for sore eyes.  I usually only get to see him in the morning, so I don’t know what to make of this afternoon visit.  
  
He’s biting his lip as I approach him, shifting his eyes; his discomfort is obvious.  
  
“Something I can help you with?” I ask him.  Really what I want to know is,  _do you prefer the top or the bottom?_ That designer wardrobe and that regal demeanor of his tells me he knows how to dominate, but then there’s that something else—something in his eyes, or maybe it’s just his hair—that tells me he’d take it up the ass and love every second of it.  I find that particularly thrilling.  
  
Without preamble of any sort, Coffee Man hands me the bag he’s holding.  Now I’m not sure what to expect when I look inside, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find a new shirt in there.  A shirt just like the one he spilled coffee on nearly a week before.  
  
I tell him he didn’t need to do it, and even try to give it back, but he is insistent.  He wants me to have it, and I know it’s his way of apologizing.  But then he takes the whole thing a step further and asks me to go into the bathroom to try it on.  
  
Right now?  
  
Without further hesitation, I make my way toward the bathroom to try on my new shirt.  And he is right behind me.  
  
It’s a shirt, right?  A plain old, garden-variety t-shirt.  If I take off the one I’m wearing to try on the one he gave me I won’t be exposing my genitalia or anything, so I don’t bother going into a stall.  I scan the room to see if we have company and notice he is doing the same.  Even better.  There’s no one in there with us, and not wanting to waste another moment of this guy’s valuable time (yeah right), I proceed to doff my old shirt and lay it on the counter.  When I grab the new one from the bag, I see him watching me, admiring me.  
  
I slow my movements. I want to give Coffee Man time to make a move, if he’s working up to one.  I certainly hope so.  He’s licking his lips, practically salivating at this point.  Maybe he just wants to look.  I put on the shirt—it’s a perfect fit, not surprising since we are of similar build.  He’s taller, with broader shoulders, but beyond that, we’re a dead heat.  
  
“It’s a perfect fit”, I tell him, watching him closely.  If there are any double or even triple meanings implied by that statement, I mean every one of them.  
  
I thank him and he watches me as I stuff my old shirt into the bag he gave me and turn to leave.  I’m almost at the door, holding the handle and generally kicking myself for being a complete pussy when I hear him call out.  
  
“Wait”, Coffee Man tells me.  So I stop.  And I turn.  And I wait.  
  
“I—“, he starts, and I can practically feel the words clogging his throat but there’s so many of them and he doesn’t know which ones to use first, or which way to use them, so he says nothing.  And I realize that here, in the bathroom of this big, shiny sterile building an insane tension has developed.  It’s the kind of tension that would definitely disarm you if you didn’t know how to deal with it.  Coffee Man obviously doesn’t.  I do, but up until this moment have been concerned that making a move would definitely result in the loss of my breezy job.  So for both our sakes, I decide to throw caution to the wind.  I approach him, slowly because he’s skittish, watching how those mystical eyes watch me, lean in and press an easy kiss to his lips.  
  
It’s good.  It’s simple.  Coffee Man’s lips are soft.  He doesn’t resist.  I hear his breath catching, and then exhaling in a huff, as if he’d been holding it. I begin to move away but he grabs my head and presses his lips against mine more firmly.  And then I feel his tongue sliding between my lips and I taste his sugar for the first time.  
  
And then all bets are off.  
  
You’ve never seen two men paw at each other the way we do.  We can’t get close enough.  My new shirt is in a heap on the floor along with his suit jacket, vest and tie, and I’m frantically working at the buttons on his shirt.  Meanwhile he is licking my neck as if it had been salted and would be followed by a wedge of lime.  
  
Voices outside of the bathroom door alert us that we are not in fact the only two people in existence, and certainly not in the building and that at any moment, someone might need to use this bathroom for something other than watching the two of us make out.  We stop and gather our things in a rush, and then scurry into separate stalls.  I hear him giggle nervously from his stall and it sets my mind at ease.  That could have easily gone the other way.  It is obvious Coffee Man needs to let off some steam or at the very least, do a decaf switch a couple of times a week.  
  
I put my shirt back on and listen.  When I’m sure no one is coming into the bathroom, I come out of my stall.  He comes out of his right after.  His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his silk tie is in a ball in his hand.  I watch him stuff what is probably a $500 tie into his pocket.  
  
But I digress.  We exchange awkward looks.  
  
“Will you come with me?” he asks me, and I smile. I am going to miss two classes by leaving with him, and I couldn’t be happier.  
  
“Yes”, I tell him, and that sweet mouth of his curves a little into a smile.  “By the way, I’m Shikamaru.”  
  
He doesn’t respond in kind.  Coffee Man it is.  
  
Turns out the guy drives a Mercedes sports coupe.  A black one.  And he lives in an obscenely posh condo in a very upscale neighborhood.  I wonder about all the goodies, but I say nothing.  We ride in silence.  
  
We’re in his condo fifteen seconds before my new shirt is lying in a heap someplace again.  I vaguely recall him telling me it is a new rule that I have to be shirtless as long as I am in his place.  Whatever.  
  
We’re at each other again.  I swear we’re polarized.  His clothes are coming off faster than a prom dress.  We make it as far as his kitchen—which is half the size of my entire apartment, I hasten to add—before we’re both naked as the day we were born.  Coffee Man has a world-class ass to go with all that gorgeous hair and those amazing eyes.  Makeshift lube?  Check.  Condoms?  Got it covered.  Bustling erections?  Yep, two of them.  
  
Guess who gets to pounce on whom?  
  
I have him, on the floor on his knees.  I get to pull his hair as I pound into him with wicked strength.  He makes the sexiest strangled noise when he busts that nut, which takes a while.  He must have been pretty backed up.  
  
We both recover quickly—thank goodness for youth—and then I take him again, this time while he is lying on his back on the island in the center of his kitchen.  I will remember the noise the copper items made as they were swept off the island and hit the floor with particular fondness, and for the rest of my life.  
  
It’s hypnotic the way his eyes change when he is overcome with intense emotion.  For a while there I have to close my own eyes to the sight.  Coffee Man keeps telling me to open my eyes, that I am beautiful, and I don’t— _can’t_ —understand why.  How can a man as pretty as he is think of  _me_  as beautiful?  
  
I do keep my eyes open when he comes.  I come right after he does, but I don’t know if he is watching.  
  
We fall asleep huddled together naked and sticky on that cold, flat surface.  We wake up a while later, when it gets too cold in the kitchen.  I ask him about the mess we made in there and he tells me the maid will take care of it in the morning.  Is he serious?!  
  
We hobble on what seems an endless expedition to find a bathroom.  It happens to be inside of his bedroom, which has  _got_  to be bigger than my apartment.  
  
“Do you bathe or shower?” Coffee Man asks me.  
  
I understand the question.  “Both”, I answer him.  
  
He runs a bath and starts the shower, which is in a separate stall.  
  
The bath is for me.  
  
I know what I need to do and everything I need is there, so I make quick use of it.  I am aware that I have an audience, but I don’t care.    I’ve done this enough times to not be embarrassed by the implications anymore.  
  
I take the opportunity to soak in that oversized bath.  The hot foamy water feels great.  I feel like I’m being spoiled.  Coffee Man is watching me with an expression of gratitude on his face, as if I had saved him from some unwanted fate.  It’s unusual for me to witness a man wearing his heart on his sleeve so.  This one is ripe with his emotions and it occurs to me that maybe that’s why he’s so uptight—he’d be an easy mark for someone eager to get their hands on his goodies otherwise.  Well, the only goodies he’s got that I’m genuinely interested in are the ones I now have sore knees from pounding into.  What I know of him I like, but I’m no idiot.  Win, lose or draw, I am clearly outclassed.  
  
Now out of the shower, out of the bath, squeaky clean and smelling fresh, we climb on top of his big bed.  The polarization kicks in again, and we’re all over each other.  I know what’s about to happen and I want to it to trump what has already occurred, so I go for broke.  I put my hands and fingers and lips and tongue anywhere he’ll let me.  What—no one’s ever sucked your toes before?   _Shameful._   Tonight I am his entertainment.  I do my job well.  
  
Finally, when we can stand it no longer, he grabs a bottle of lube and proceeds to stretch me.  It’s got a scent that reminds me of the color purple.  It hurts—I rarely do anything sexual, only because I’m lazy, and I bottom even less.  But I endure, because it’s not the worse pain I’ve ever felt and because I know what comes after it.  Besides, he isn’t a sadist—he’s trying to be as gentle as he can and as quick as he can at the same time, and wouldn’t something have to give under those conditions?  
  
I give him the okay to stop stretching me.  I’ve had enough.  Coffee Man sheaths himself and pushes himself into me almost in a single movement.  
  
I holler and I hear him hiss.  I know my ass is choking his dick, and I know what that must be like for him, because his ass was choking mine not two hours before.  I’m full.  I swear I can feel that insanely hard dick in the back of my throat.  
  
“Move”, I grunt.  
  
I have a grace period of about fifteen seconds before Coffee Man begins to pour his aggression into his movements.  What is it about fifteen-second time intervals with this guy?  Anyway, I’m on my knees and he’s splitting my ass.  His erection is much thicker than it looks.  I’m demonstrating the same spirited emotion I’ve seen in him since I’ve come to know of him, but especially tonight.  I don’t hold back my shouts and cries.  I want him to know how good I think it feels to have him angrily fucking me, and that I can take it as good as I can give it.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I’m hoping against hope that he’ll want to do this with me again, that he’ll find me worthy enough to make a part of his life in a way that involves more than just brewing his first cup of the day.  
  
And god, I know we’re young, but this guy’s been pounded twice tonight, and he’s still taking me like a runaway locomotive.  I’ll have to swap out his morning Costa Rican with a decaf replica.  Or work on my technique.  
  
I come hard, maybe harder than the first two times combined.  Coffee Man is right behind me, pun intended.  Yeah, I’m always good for a pun.  
  
It’s the last thing I remember until morning.  
  
Now, I’m not used to waking up alone in a stranger’s bed.  That’s not to say it hasn’t happened to me.  I’ve never, however, awoken to the sound of breakfast being served to me in bed on a silver tray by a hot guy wearing nothing but a robe.  Did I mention I feel like I’m being spoiled?  I try sitting up, but my ass and back are staging a coup.  At the moment, it isn’t an option.  In fact, I realize grimly, I will probably be lying on my belly for the lion’s share of the day.  No school and no work either.  
  
What is this guy, an android?  Is he even limping?  
  
It’s nearly time for me to open the cafeteria.  I tell Coffee Man I need to make a call.  He tells me not to worry about work, and that he’s already put in a call on my behalf.  He also informs me that he’s taking the day off work.  I have the option to recuperate with him at his condo, or he will drive me wherever I ask.  
  
I feel hope against hope creeping up on me again.  I try to shove it away, but it’s hard when he’s smiling at me like that, and feeding me blueberry muffin.  Those hypnotic, emotion-filled eyes are at it again, and I know I’m going to feel something that might not be heartbreak but will come close to it when this is over.  There’s no way to stop it now.  
  
For today, at least, I decide to recuperate in this monstrous condo with Coffee Man and let fate have her way.


End file.
